


Those Who Would Cheat Death

by Mimic_Teruyo



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Experimental Style, Gen, Isolation, Mental Disintegration, Mystery, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 15:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18704749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimic_Teruyo/pseuds/Mimic_Teruyo
Summary: Soga no Tojiko is in quite a pickle. Not only did she wake up one day as a ghost, but her recollection of her past life seems flawed at best. Fortunately, she has all the time she could ever want to piece it all together...





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted from 2/17/2016 to 2/22/2016
> 
> This is, hopefully, the only time I risk running afoul of AO3's at least ten characters per chapter policy.

A ghost woke up.

It was a curious feeling, waking up, and the ghost quickly decided she didn't much care for it. She did what she could to shake it off, then looked around with wide eyes, seeing nothing but darkness. It wasn't long until an overwhelming dizziness claimed her.

Something was deeply wrong. Her name was gone, and with that, her identity. She could remember nothing of who she had been, but guessed something had gone seriously awry.

She lay back down, biting her lip, and waited for her eyes to slowly grow accustomed to the dark. Stone surrounded her everywhere: the walls, the ceiling, the casket she was lying in, no doubt also the floor she couldn't see from her vantage point. If she had to guess, she was in some kind of a crypt or mausoleum.

She looked down. Where her legs had been was nothing but swirling mist, a crude parody of the missing limbs. The accepted the fact with the same dull resignation as the rest.

She sat back up and looked around.

There was another casket next to hers.

Laboriously, the ghost sat up again and stared down at the body lying in the casket. Her strange bedfellow had been a girl, or perhaps a woman — the white hair made it difficult to be sure. The body was well preserved, eerily so, more like a doll or a sleeping person than a corpse. In its arms it clutched a simple plate, partially obscured by the long sleeves of the robes it was clad in.

Something about the body's features, the stringy hair and child-like face, made a small flame light up in the recesses of the ghost's mind, but no name came to her tongue. Only images, mostly of blood.

The ghost leaned in closer to make sure the body did not breathe, and once satisfied with her inquiry, hovered deeper into the chamber. The closer she got to the end of it, the more impressive the fading paintings on the stone walls became.

It briefly crossed the ghost's mind that the mausoleum was richly enough decorated to be fit for an emperor.

Another casket waited for her at the end of her journey, plainer than she had expected. She placed a hand on the gilded edge of the casket and peeked inside.

Much like the pale girl from before, the resident of the grave looked more alive than dead, or rather like someone who had never lived in the first place. She had a slight figure, and a rare kind of fine beauty to her features. Her honey blonde hair was shaped into cones resembling animal ears, and an ornate hilted sword lay on her flat chest.

The face wasn't one the ghost had known in life, not quite, but immediate the flame in her mind grew and became a fire.

"Toyosatomimi no Miko," she whispered.

With that, the floodgates opened. Her chest ached as tears filled her eyes. She wiped them away hastily, shocked she could even cry in the strange state she found herself in.

She...now, who was she? Who had she been to this beautiful person to be buried in the same mausoleum as her?

She touched her own face, studied its shape, and tried to remember the name Miko had called her.

"Tojiko...Soga no Tojiko."

Tojiko sighed in relief, feeling the alien tingle that came from breathing without needing to. She wasn't sure it was her entire name, or even if it was her real name after all. Still, Tojiko felt good. Tojiko felt right.

She floated back to where she had woken up, hoping that her new-found identity would be enough to figure out that of the other body. She stared at the pale woman in white again. The flame lit up.

"Futo..."

This time she was almost certain the name wasn't quite right, corrupted by whatever had corrupted the rest of her mind. That thought came second to an overwhelming image of blood; gushing forth like a gruesome nightmare, drowning out all sentiment and opinions.

 

* * *

 

Tojiko sat down to reflect. She had time for that. Time was all she had, really.

She knew who she was, more or less. She remembered the houses she had lived in, both the one where she had dwelled as a girl, and the one she had moved to after marrying, although she wasn't sure who she had married. She had only a vague idea who Miko was, but her gut told her she had been very important to her. The same applied to Futo.

So far, so good. Problem was, her recollection began and ended there. She had no idea how she had died, why she was buried where she was, and why she was now a ghost.

Why did her memories disobey her so?

Another person might have sunk into despair, but Tojiko had no time for that. Crying and rending her illusory garments would get her nowhere. Reflecting, and thus trying to understand how she had come to be what she was, and exactly why the three of them were buried there, could at least bring some results.

She plunged head-first into the muddled parts of her mind, swimming by fragments of faint images and sentences removed out of context, memories that felt more like half-forgotten dreams than any reality. The apex of her confusion lied there, just submerged under layers of mist, but hard as she tried memories only came to her in disjointed order with no rhyme or reason that Tojiko could discern. It was an annoyance, but she kept focusing nevertheless. Any pieces of the puzzle were better than none with such an incomplete picture. She had to try.

_She was eight, and her parents had bestowed upon her a beautiful doll. She danced with joy, holding the doll._

_She was fifteen, and the crown prince held her close as she wiped tears from her face._

_Seiga Nyan-nyan, the strange hermit, smirked at her. Tojiko tried her best to swallow her unease, but couldn't._

_She shuddered as Seiga explained the shikaisen process, and turned to see how earnestly Miko and Futo accepted it, their eyes shining at the promise of a new life._

_A flash, as vivid as all the rest of her memories put together, of Futo standing on the footbridge over the koi pond of the palace garden, gazing down at the fish. A memory so real Tojiko could feel the breeze on her skin and taste the metal in her mouth._

_The wicked hermit smiled as Tojiko told her that like Futo, she had chosen to follow Miko and be reborn as a shikaisen by her side._

_She picked up a humble clay jar, fired in an oven for longevity, and clutched it to her chest when she was sure no-one was watching._

_She drank down the poison after Futo's corpse had been taken away, and felt Miko's reassuring eyes on her as the foul liquid dulled her sensed and freed the tinge of fear she had so hard tried to keep hidden._

_She drank down the poison as Futo, still alive and well, watched, a sympathetic smile on her lips._

Tojiko opened her eyes and looked at the strange wisps where her legs had been, feeling hollow. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter who had drank the poison first, but that she recollected two conflicting events, feeling both to be equally real, well...

She folded her arms. So, she couldn't fully trust her memories. No matter. She would sort it all out, eventually. What mattered now was that she kept trying.

She had the time, after all.

 

* * *

 

She had been Miko's wife.

Tojiko sat on the edge of Miko's casket, and leaned over to brush off the hair on her forehead. She had been staring down at her face for what felt like days, but was probably only hours.

The revelation had finally come to her after several days of deliberation: once she had dug up enough memories of both Miko and Prince Shoutoku did she realise they had been the same person. Even after the epiphany, she couldn't blame herself for her initial confusion; the face on the body before her wasn't the face Miko had worn in life. The features were different: softer, more delicate. If Tojiko squinted, she could imagine the shadow of Miko's former appearance superimposed over this skinny waif, black hair and a thin moustache over an often stern lip.

Tojiko squinted harder until the sceptre disappeared. She liked the new look better. The Miko with strange hair and a girl's face had already overtaken the old Miko in her memories as well as her thoughts. Looks aside, this was the Miko she had truly known.

Tojiko smiled. If nothing else, it was nice to see Miko's new body matched her soul.

Her gaze travelled downward, and she leaned forward to touch the scabbard of Miko's sword, only to recoil at the last possible moment. The sword hosted Miko's soul now, and while Tojiko didn't know if her touch had any effect on it, she decided not to risk it.

Still, the sword had caught her attention. From what she could see, it was still pristine, almost like it had been removed from the flow of time altogether. Futo's plate was much the same. Why had Tojiko's jar alone crumbled into dust?

Really, the answer was clear enough.

Sabotage.

Since so few had known of the Crown Prince's plan, it was easy to narrow down the list potential culprits. She could leave Miko out straight away; why would she have gone through the effort of saving Tojiko, too, only to kill her in such a manner?

Futo, then? Tojiko glanced towards the other side of the chamber. She still remembered little of her, but recalled no animosity towards her or vice versa. Tojiko wouldn't dismiss the possibility just yet, not without more evidence, but had to admit Futo paled in comparison to the most obvious culprit.

The image of Seiga curling her lips into a smile appeared before her mind's eye.

Tojiko ground her teeth. Even with her hazy recollections she clearly remembered warning Miko not to have undue faith in Seiga, and generally doubting the hermit. Was this Seiga's revenge for that? Tampering with her resurrection, guaranteeing she would perish? If so, every hesitation she had had about following the Crown Prince beyond the land of the dead by trusting her life in the hands of Seiga Nyan-nyan had been proven right tenfold.

Well. At least Miko and Futo were still clinging to life. Tojiko would make sure it remained that way.


	2. The Crown Prince

_Miko gently brushed Tojiko's hair aside. "It's settled, then. All three of us, together."_

_Miko stood turned away from the door, her face obscured by shadows. "I did not pressure her into her decision. Any more than I wish to influence yours."_

_It wasn't Miko standing before her, but Futo, her hands smaller, eyes rounder and earnest rather than gentle. "It's going to work. I promise. I promise..."_

_"You don't have to follow," Miko said at the exact same time as Tojiko said: "I will." When Miko stared, Tojiko added quietly: "I will not be the only one left behind."_


	3. Mentors, Good and Ill

Tojiko sat down cross-legged and took a deep breath. It had been a challenge to arrange her legs properly at first, but with time had become second nature.

"Good. Empty your mind completely."

At her father's behest, Tojiko closed her eyes and let her head drop against her chest. She had never understood why her older siblings thought it so difficult: it was simplicity to shut her thoughts away with the rest of the world, embracing the peaceful void within.

She didn't come to until her father was violently shaking her. She blinked in surprise.

Her father's face was obscured by a strange fog, but the emotion came thick from the voice alone. "You have been in a trance for days, my pearl."

"Oh." With that, she felt the strength that had allowed her to sit upright sap away, and she collapsed on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Two days after she was well again, her father invited her to visit his rooms.

She bowed deeply by the door, then shuffled in, head held low.

Her father sat at the centre of the small room, holding a thick scroll. Tojiko couldn't see his eyes, only the wrinkles around his mouth that made her father look frightfully old, much older than his years.

"Your brother told me you had a spat with Lady Meiko again," Her father's voice was quiet, with only a hint of rebuke.

Tojiko tried to lower her gaze even further. "I'm sorry, Father."

Her father sighed. "What is done is done." He turned to face Tojiko and smiled faintly. "Week after week, I hear stories of your headstrong behaviour. Refusing to practice on the loom, staring people in the eye, talking back to your elders." He shook his head. "You are always at excellent behaviour when I see you, my pearl, but with so many eye-witness reports I can't but believe them."

Tojiko said nothing.

"Regardless, I didn't call you here for that. We need to discuss your future."

"As you say, Father," Tojiko nodded, keeping her eyes down. She didn't care what anyone else thought of her, but should her father, the one person who always smiled at her and taught her everything she wished to know, even when it wasn't particularly suitable for women, lose his faith in her...

Her father opened the scroll on his lap and held it up. "It is time you move to your fiance's household. All necessary arrangements have been made. You may leave as soon as tomorrow."

Tojiko suppressed a sigh. She had known this day would come sooner than later. "As you say, Father."

Her father's expression softened. "My precious Tojiko." He beckoned with his hand, and she shuffled forward to receive his embrace. "Of all my children, you...much like your mother, you really are a pearl. However, once you are married, you absolutely must keep your temper in check."

Tojiko nodded. "I will do my best, Father."

Her father smiled. "I know you will, Tojiko. You will grow into a beautiful woman and make a wonderful wife." He stroked her long, loose hair. "You will be happy in the union, too. He is a most formidable man, Prince Shoutoku. Only..." for a mere instant, Tojiko caught glimpse of her father's eyes, flashing with strange emotion. "For the time being, the Crown Prince seems keen on promoting our creed. Should things change...promise you will keep your faith."

Tojiko felt like laughing, and only kept a straight face through concerted effort. "I promise."

 

* * *

 

Tojiko opened her eyes to discover herself lying flat on the mausoleum's floor.

She could trust nothing, but there seemed to be no harm embracing the memory. It was like a comforting blanket in the tiny prison she was was confined in.

_"You are too young to marry."_

Words her father hadn't said, but perhaps should have.

_"Keep your faith."_

Tojiko held her hand upwards and summoned sparks of electricity with a mere thought. Not that she cared much for Shintoism either, but with her strange new powers she wondered if the Mononobe clan had had the right idea from the start.

_"You will be happy."_

Tojiko laughed, but when it echoed from the walls it sounded more like a sob.

 

* * *

 

Tojiko sat on the floor next to Miko's coffin. She hadn't bothered to move much lately. It only hindered her access to her memories, jeopardised enough as it was.

She could no longer tell day from week, or month from year. The endless hours spent in these dark chambers had long since melted together. Still, she kept trying to remember more, fighting with memories so brittle they crumbled into pieces if Tojiko tried to examine them with more detail.

"My. This is unexpected."

Tojiko woke up from her reveries with a jolt, hands bristling with lightning she had instinctively channelled. She recognised the voice, but even if she hadn't, only one person could have breached into the crypt.

Seiga was floating just above the ground, the translucent folds of her gown billowing serenely around her as she slowly advanced towards the back end of the mausoleum. She paused and smiled her ineffable smile, her eyes firmly on Tojiko.

"Oh, spare me." Tojiko met Seiga's gaze and glared venom at her. "You didn't expect me to linger on, did you? You tampered with my jar, and thought I'd move on after dying?" She grinned, a completely humourless smile with more than its share of teeth. "Sorry to ruin your plans, but I'm going nowhere."

Seiga's expression remained unchanged. "You always did believe the very worst of me." She let out an airy little laugh. "I hate to disappoint you, my dear, but I'm genuinely surprised. I haven't the slightest why the ritual failed for you but not the others. " She winked. "Mind you, hermits don't usually admit to their ignorance. Consider this confession a privilege."

"You expect me to believe that?" If possible, Tojiko's felt even more of an urge to smack her.

"Do or do not, it is all the same to me." Seiga examined her immaculate fingernails. "On the other hand, it seems you have little option but to trust me."

"I trust you as much as a frog trusts a crane," Tojiko snapped. Seiga merely chuckled in response, but Tojiko had seen the way her lips pursed and her eyes flashed. Not that it mattered. Even at the best of times, apologising to Seiga had been a chore, but now, after death had smoothed out all of her trained refinement and education and left behind nothing but her very core, honed until nothing but bluntness remains, it was as possible as swallowing the sun.

Seiga chuckled. "It's almost like old times, is it not?" She leaned in closer. "Riddle me this; if I had tampered with your temporary body, what would I gain from lying about it to you now?"

Tojiko recoiled, then creased her forehead and pondered. "I would tell Miko when she wakes up, and that might finally be enough to snap her out of your influence for good. Or maybe you want to try and win my trust once again, for whatever sick plans you have. Maybe you want to let my guard down so you can finish the job and exterminate me." She snapped her fingers to summon a small bolt of lightning, but made no effort to attack: as much as she wished she could kill Seiga right there and then, she had seen some of Seiga's almost deity-like abilities in the past. No doubt she could still destroy Tojiko while barely lifting a finger, lightning powers or no lightning powers.

"Fair enough." The thin fabric wrapped around Seiga rustled as she shrugged. "My words may be mud to you, but I'll say this regardless. I did not kill you, Soga no Tojiko."

Tojiko grunted. At least she could now be sure she had remembered her name right.

Or at least, that it was the name Seiga wanted her to remember.

She let it slide. It was an identity, and it would serve. She couldn't allow herself to be paralysed by uncertainty. She would be Soga no Tojiko.

"Fine, then." She wasn't stupid enough to believe Seiga, but the line of discussion was getting her nowhere. "Why are you here?"

"I came to see if all was well." Seiga glanced at Tojiko's translucent tails. "A lucky whim, I see."

"Lucky," Tojiko repeated with all the spite she could muster.

"Lucky," Seiga repeated, her smile unwavering. "To you, I should note. I know, I know," she quickly said when Tojiko opened, "you won't nothing to do with me. Let's move past that, shall we? I'm your only hope, after all."

Tojiko considered this. If nothing else, she should hear Seiga out. Granted, she couldn't trust her in any way, but perhaps she could discern some truths beneath her lies. "So, why am I a ghost?"

"Only you can answer that, my dear." Before Tojiko had time to tell her previous decision to screw itself and tell Seiga exactly where she could cram her smirks and cryptic replies, the hermit turned away and hovered to Tojiko's casket. "Does anything remain of your temporary body?"

Tojiko shook her head. She had looked through the stony coffin for shards, but only dust remained.

"Quite odd, that," Seiga said with the air of someone who didn't think it was very strange at all. "You ought to have chosen something sturdier as your vessel."

Tojiko kept her expression impassive as Seiga's eyes combed over her face. Like the hermit didn't know the jar Tojiko had chosen had been perfectly suitable.

"Oh, well. What is done is done." Without waiting for a response, Seiga extended her hand towards Tojiko. "Can you pass through solid matter by yourself, or shall I assist you?"

Tojiko blinked. "What?"

"How articulate." Seiga's smile momentarily waned before re-emerging at full force. "The world isn't ready for Prince Shoutoku's return for ages to come. Do you plan to stagnate here among the corpses? You'll be stuck here for centuries, with your mind rotting away until you long for dead you no longer can achieve."

Even though Tojiko could no longer feel cold, she shuddered. "That's not true."

"I have no reason to lie." Seiga nodded at her extended hand. "If you wish, you can stay at my abode, or haunt your past home."

"I am her— I was..." Tojiko quickly glanced towards Miko's casket, then returning Seiga's gaze with steel. "I will not leave her."

"You won't be any use to her if your mind is gone."

"It won't be gone."

Seiga laughed. "So obstinate. It doesn't matter how headstrong you were in life. These conditions will destroy anyone." She leaned in closer. "You may not see it yourself, but your eyes have already changed."

"I'm staying."

"Well, I cannot force you to leave." Seiga's grin widened. "Rather, I can. But I won't. It'll be interesting to see how long you will last, if nothing else."

"I will last as long as is needed." Tojiko summoned all the steel she could into her eyes. "Leave."

"So stubborn." Seiga put her arm halfway through the wall like it was thin air. "I will come back later."

Tojiko was left alone in the darkness.


	4. The Wicked Hermit

_"You seem surprised." Seiga chuckled as she was wont to do, sending shivers down Tojiko's spine. Everything about her smile was a lie. "It's only natural, is it not, that a wife should follow her husband?"_

_Seiga stroked the head of the leering jiang shi she had introduced as her servant. "You've fulfilled your purpose quite nicely, Soga no Tojiko. Your parents must be proud of you."_

_Seiga purred, actually purred, like a cat in front of a full bowl of milk. "Not to fear, my dear. Your secret is safe in my hands. After all, you could say that we are kindred spirits."_

_Seiga's smile never faded, but she didn't even try to hide the malice in her eyes. "My sweet child, do you have any idea what kind of forces you are meddling with?"_


	5. Conjecture

Tojiko blinked rapidly and gazed upon the exact same dark corner of the mausoleum as she had before she closed her eyes. She stretched her arms for the sole sake of having something to do.

How long had it been since she had last thought about time? A month? A year? Ten minutes? In the mausoleum, time stood still. A minute was just as long as an hour, which was as long as a day. As ghosts didn't sleep, nothing separated one period of quiet solitude from another. It was always the same stone walls. The same dust. The same utter silence.

Yet, ever so slowly, the world outside changed. Seiga would visit at times, a welcome sight as much as Tojiko disliked her, and give Tojiko cryptic hints about world events. No doubt it was an attempt to entice her to leave Miko's side, but instead of following Seiga outside, Tojiko took every word she said and used them to create countless fanciful theories about the human world and kept herself entertained that way.

Her eyes had long grown accustomed to the lack of light in the crypt; she saw perfectly fine with the exception of muted colours. During her weakest hours, she could feel the darkness dulling her senses, trying to suffocate her mind. It was only then she would truly exert her abilities and light up the crypt with thunder until it resembled an electric summer day.

She tried not to remain idle. She honed her powers. She made up stories for her own amusement. She sang, ignoring how her siblings had once teased her about her singing voice sounding like the croaking of a dying frog. They were all as dead as she was, after all.

And whenever all else failed her, she dwelled in her memories.

It had taken effort, but most of her life had returned to her. Her childhood was relatively intact, and while the Miko in the stony tomb had forever replaced the ghost of the other Miko in her mind, she now remembered plenty of their life together.

And yet, her final weeks remained in the fog but for a few confused fragments, many of them mutually exclusive yet equally possible. And nothing that revealed her murderer.

It was burning Tojiko up from the inside, the uncertainty of it all. No doubt the solution to her predicament lay somewhere in the dusty recesses to her mind. It wouldn't bring her life back, but she still wished to find out exactly who had swapped the jar and exact her revenge.

An image of Seiga immediately swam to her mind, and she grimaced. She would never be convinced of Seiga's innocence, not until someone else was proven guilty.

If not Seiga, however, the second most likely culprit...

Tojiko floated to Futo's casket and looked at her face, so peaceful in deadly slumber.

It felt wrong. Hadn't they been friends? Tojiko recalled arguments, but also perfectly civil conversations, and far more affectionate events she wasn't sure had actually happened. Betrayal might have been in Futo's blood, but to be willing murder a friend for whatever ends?

But then, was such betrayal any worse than the fate of the Mononobe clan?

Tojiko hugged herself.

She had to be sure. Somewhere within her had to be a clue to Futo's motivations, something that would reveal if she had done it. All she had to do was to dig it out.

She sat down on the floor and fell into a brown study.


	6. Last Words

_"Forgive me, Crown Prince..."_


	7. And The Pieces Fall...

The footbridge over the pond was painted red. That didn't change.

The creak the boards gave was the same every time Tojiko stepped on the bridge — she had legs, wondrous things now that she had lost them. The glare of early afternoon sun reflected in the water the same way every time Tojiko viewed the memory.

Every time, Futo's eyes rose slowly from the lazy koi in the pond beneath. Every time, she met Tojiko's gaze steadily, without a hint of hesitation or guilt.

_Tojiko watched from afar as Futo closed her eyes for the final time, controlling her breathing as best she could._

_Tojiko grasped Futo's hand like it's the only thing keeping her from drowning, but nothing could stop the poison in her veins. She heard her own voice vowing they would meet again._

_Tojiko escaped the room the moment Futo's lips touched the dark liquid, both hands desperately clamped over her mouth. Miko might suspect something, but it couldn't be helped. She had thought herself stronger, but all assurances shielding her heart were for naught as Futo's impending death pierced through them._

_Tojiko looked on as Miko wiped the cold sweat off Futo's brow as Futo mumbles a few final slurred words, feeling nothing._

Futo smiled. That also didn't change.

_"My friend."_

_"My child."_

_"My love."_

_"My ally."_

Tojiko opened her eyes in the familiar darkness of the mausoleum, cursing herself. She would never get anywhere if she allowed herself to be constantly interrupted by false memories.

She closed her eyes again and focused. Of course, she had no way of knowing which memories were false and which ones weren't. The best she could guess was that of all things, the footbridge in the garden and her discussion with Futo while standing on it were the most likely to have actually existed. Thus, she clung to it, focusing all her mind on that sunny afternoon a day before one of them had died.

_"I heard you've decided to join us."_

_Tojiko frowned at Futo's tone. "Why is that a surprise?"_

_Futo bowed her head, but only for an instant. "I suppose it isn't. It's just since you needed time to think about it, and seemed so worried about dying, well..."_

_Futo coughed up blood, staining her clothes and the floor with noxious red spots._

Tojiko tore her mind free of the disrupting image and plunged back in.

_"That's why I assumed you would decline."_

_Tojiko gave Futo the most withering look she could while still maintaining some semblance of civility. "I had some manners to settle. Relations I had to take into account." She feigned a courteous acknowledgement. "I understand you might not have thought of it, Futo, but unlike you I have some earthly ties besides the Crown Prince I had to take into account."_

_Futo smiled, but her eye twitched. "Of course. I am glad you will join us, regardless."_

_Tojiko felt Miko's hand on her cheek, wiping away fresh tears._

Tojiko held her head, biting her lip. She would never get to the bottom of the matter if she couldn't focus. What had happened in the garden that day?

The garden flashed before her eyes once, and then Miko stood before her, the small lithe Miko whose body she had been guarding, gently comforting her. Someone was dead. Futo, probably.

Her mind was ablaze, and it hurt in a way nothing in life or dead had hurt before. And yet Tojiko kept focusing.

_Futo was still smiling, but only faintly. "She had already prepared everything necessary for three people." She chuckled. "Isn't it amazing? It's like she already knew the decision you would take before even you did."_

_"Indeed." Tojiko looked back at Futo, daring her to meet her eyes._

_Futo did so, as if completely oblivious of the steel in Tojiko's gaze, smiling with her big, bright eyes._

_Eyes staring at Tojiko with guilt and pain..._

Tojiko gave a start, and found herself back in the mausoleum. Stubbornly, she squeezed her eyes shut.

_"Here." Futo all but shoved the jar into Tojiko's hands. Tojiko hadn't noticed it before, but the clay was ever so slightly lighter than in her other memories. "You'll need this tomorrow."_

_Tojiko frowned at the jar. "Where did you get this from?"_

_"I saw you setting it aside in the storage. It's better that you keep it on you, now that the moment of the ritual is so near." Futo turned away and leaned on the railing, smiling down at the water._

Her head felt ready to split in two, but again Tojiko focused.

_Futo raised her hands, now stained with blood, and stared at her palms. Her skin was paler than her hair, and getting paler by the moment._

_In a manic flash, she looked up, and sought something with dimming eyes. Her gaze landed on Tojiko and found her eyes._

_She smiled, but her eyes shone with immense pain and something much akin to regret._

Tojiko heard only static as Futo rather gurgled than spoke her last words, but she knew what the words whispered were from the movements of Futo's lips.

_Forgive me, Crown Prince._

 

* * *

 

The world was grey.

The colours, already muted before, had slipped away so subtly Tojiko couldn't even tell when she had cast her last glimpse at them. They still existed in some of her memories, but the effort of reaching them was rarely worth it.

"Tojiko."

Tojiko opened her eyes wearily. The wicked hermit had lost her colours just like the mausoleum: her airy clothes and blue hues were all replaced with the same dull monochrome. Wearily, Tojiko looked away.

"Tojiko?" Seiga floated closer. She still had a smile on her face, accompanied by a slight frown. "Can you hear me?"

Tojiko took a deep breath, out of habit rather than necessity. Speaking meant making a huge effort, rarely worth it. For once, however, she had something new to tell the wicked hermit. "It was Futo."

Seiga tilted her head. "Yes?"

"It was Futo who switched the jars." Several fragments of memory flashed in front of her eyes in rapid succession, in alien colours: Futo in the garden, smiling at her: a glimpse of the jar the last time Tojiko had looked at it before swallowing the poison: Futo's blood, still crimson even after all other colours were gone from the world: Futo's eyes the moment before she had died. "Her and no-one else."

"Hmm..." Seiga's glance towards Futo's casket. "If it was something done by design and not a simple mistake done by a servant after your deaths, then yes, it was her. I could have told you as much before if you had been willing to listen. She was a mischievous girl, that one."

Futo had been a grown woman as far as Tojiko could remember, but she kept her peace.

"This is more than mischief," she muttered instead.

"Indeed. I presume dear Miko will agree."

Tojiko chuckled, with laughter that had never heard happiness. "She wanted to get rid of me."

Seiga cocked her eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I figured it out. The mystery is solved." She no longer had the strength to hold herself upright, so she allowed herself to collapse forward. "She was jealous and wanted Miko's full attention."

"That is what you think, then?" Seiga's voice was quiet.

"It doesn't really matter." Tojiko's eyes fluttered back open. She didn't in fact have any memories pointing towards a motive, but it was the most likely reason she could think of. "It's still her fault I'm dead. Her fault I won't be able to serve the Crown Prince as I was meant to." She allowed her eyes to fall shut again. "Her fault. Her fault."

"I hope you will be able to forgive her, nevertheless. You will have to keep working together once the time of resurrection arrives, after all."

Tojiko said nothing.

It was difficult to love, alone in the darkness. It was very easy to hate.

She hated Seiga, for all her cryptic warnings and failure to save her, for all the cruelty she had seen her display, fever dreams or not. She hated humanity, for leading Miko to her foolish decision, for being allowed to live and die and live again without having to share her endless hell. She hated Miko, for convincing her to join her.

And above all, she hated Futo.

Seiga must have been able to read her thoughts from her expression, because her next words were gentler and quieter still, so unlike the usually self-satisfied hermit. "Most ghosts cling onto their hatred, yes. I cannot say what the Crown Prince will think of it, however."

Tojiko's gaze lazily made its way to Miko's tomb. It was just a piece of carved stone.

"Hmm," mumbled Seiga after a long silence, leaning towards Tojiko and lightly touching her shoulder. "It seems your mind is already melting away."

Tojiko blinked slowly and made no response. She had to be imagining the pity in Seiga's voice. The hermit she knew had no compassion for others.

"I'll take you to my adobe."

"No." Tojiko twisted away. With gargantuan effort, she rose back into the air and continued down the corridor towards Miko's casket. "I must be here when she wakes. Like I was supposed to. Must. Must." Her eyelids fluttered. "Must."

"If I hadn't already attributed you as a lost cause, I'd be disappointed now," said Seiga airily. "Be reasonable. I may return here when the time is right."

Tojiko forced herself to sit up. "No. My place is here."

"Loyalty has its limits, especially when it serves no-one. Come."

"No."

For the first time Tojiko could remember, Seiga's smile lost some of its smugness.

"I'll be candid with you." She floated quietly downwards, and for the first time Tojiko could remember, landed on the floor. "If you cannot find a way to escape from this mausoleum, you will lose your mind. This is not a threat. You have endured far more than anyone but the most stubborn could, and have reached the limit. Either you escape, or you are destroyed."

Tojiko made no response.

Seiga sighed. "I can force you, you know. I can remove you from this place whether you fight back or not. I can rob you of your free will and make you my servant, or I can simply confine you elsewhere and ensure you retain your sanity."

Tojiko remained silent.

"What do you think the Crown Prince will say when she finally awakes and finds you reduced to an empty shell?" Seiga's grin returned. "Or perhaps that no longer matters to you?"

Nothing.

"Very well. Remain here, if you so wish." Seiga shrugged her shoulders and walked to the wall.

She had already pushed half her arm through the solid stone when she turned back to give Tojiko another glance. Tojiko glowered back, unblinking.

Seiga chuckled. "You were always a strange one." She waved her hand. "Farewell, Soga no Tojiko."

And with that, Tojiko was alone.


	8. Stagnation

Moving was agony. Hence, Tojiko didn't move.

There was nothing to think about. The puzzle had been solved. Nothing remained but the cold stone and the deathly silence and time frozen in place.

She tried summoning Miko's face before her eyes, but the image was warped and distorted. Thinking about the Crown Prince no longer made her feel anything.

She tried imagining Futo instead. If love couldn't fuel her, hatred surely could. But even the memory of Futo barely stirred her. The dull annoyance she felt was more out of habit than any real sentiment.

She tried very hard not to think of her last meeting with Seiga, until it was all that remained and she had no choice. After that, she grappled with what the wicked hermit had said for what might have been anything from hours to years, the one anchor to reality and sanity she had left.

She had accepted her fate. She was dead and would wait for her saviour to awaken until the end of time, and she no longer knew for sure if there had been anything but this mausoleum and the musty air she could not breath, if all her life was a mere fabrication she had come up with the alleviate her boredom, if Miko and Futo and even Seiga were nothing more than figments of her imagination.

She thought of checking on the bodies, to see evidence they actually existed, but the best she could do was roll onto her other side. Remembering she had a body, even one as strange and spectral as hers, was the only thing that still stirred her, but in such an unpleasant way she preferred the bleak purgatory her existence otherwise was.

Perhaps she was actually in Hell, being punished for all her sins by being consigned into a world that didn't exist.

There was no reason to cry. No-one would see, anyway. There was no reason to call for help. No-one would hear, either. She could carve her entire life story into the walls of the mausoleum, and it would make no difference: one way or another, she'd be long gone before a single person would read it.

It was only her and the void.


	9. An Errant Thought

She could take Futo's plate and fling it against a stone wall.

The thought simply dawned on her, and not for the first time. Vengeance was so easy even Seiga's gormless jiang shi would have considered it, lack of free will or not.

Only the slightest effort, and Futo would never wake up again, or else would join the rank of vengeful ghosts, torn apart from humanity. A single action, and Miko would be the only shikaisen to ever emerge from the mausoleum turned hellhole.

And a little effort more, and there would be none.

Tojiko raised her head, and with her finger, drew a circle and an elongated cross onto the blanket of dust covering the floor. That done, she allowed her hand and head fall back down, exhausted from the effort.

It'd be so simple. If only she could find the will to move.


	10. Autoscopy

You realise you're looking down at yourself lying motionless on the floor.

You laugh. Tears come out.

 

* * *

 

This is not death.

you cannot die when you are already dead

 

* * *

 

there are screams. whose, you cannot say.

are they even real

drown them out. if noise can't destroy them, emptiness can

think nothing

think nothing

 

* * *

 

nothing


	11. Determination

There was a brief sound, much like a sudden breeze, as Seiga emerged into the mausoleum. She floated still for a moment, then approached Miko's casket.

Tojiko was lying on her back on the floor in front of her former husband's grave, eyes half open and lips slightly parted. She made no reaction as Seiga crouched down next to her and lightly touched her forehead.

Seiga clicked her tongue. "Such a shame."

She took hold of Tojiko's shoulders, and effortlessly raised her to sit upright with her back propped against the stone casket. The ghost didn't as much as blink her eyes at this treatment. She might as well have been a human-sized puppet.

Seiga crouched down opposite of Tojiko and tilted her head, pondering. She didn't form real bonds with but a chosen few, and definitely not with lost causes like Tojiko, but the girl had been amusing in her stubbornness. Seeing her in such a pitiable state gave Seiga little pleasure.

She leaned forward and gently brushed Tojiko's tousled hair off her face. "Poor child." She smiled faintly to herself. "You were so beautiful, too."

Just as she was done and retracted her hand, Tojiko's eyes flashed open.

Seiga stared as the ghost blinked several times, then gave Seiga a groggy, unfocused look.

"Seiga?" The voice was weak and hesitant, but unmistakably Tojiko's voice.

For the first time in several centuries, Seiga was at a momentary loss for words. "It is I, yes." She peered deep into the ghost's eyes. The pupils were clouded, but still retained most of their lustre. In other words, she was not yet lost.

Tojiko kept blinking and squinting, her brow furrowed into a deep frown. She feebly raised her hand towards her head, then let it drop. "It hurts."

"I would assume so." There was nothing Seiga could do even assuming she wanted to, so she sat down more comfortably instead. "It's a miracle you're even capable of speech after all this time."

For some reason, Tojiko smirked at that, though only weakly. "It's no miracle."

Seiga curled her hand against her cheek. "I look forward to hearing how you managed this, then. After you have stopped slurring, that is."

Tojiko chuckled and closed her eyes.

 

* * *

 

When Tojiko next opened her eyes, blinking to dispel to fog clinging to them, Seiga was still there.

The hermit probably wasn't a hallucination, then.

She attempted to sit up properly, but her body betrayed her: it moved sluggishly, like under water.

"This might take a while." Back when she had been alive, the mere thought of Seiga seeing her in such a vulnerable state would have been enough for her to break into a cold sweat. Right then, it was almost funny. Either way, there was nothing Tojiko could do about it.

"Time is not a concern to either of us, my friend." Seiga's eyes shone with a strange light Tojiko didn't recall seeing before, her expression unreadable.

"True." Tojiko flexed her fingers until they slowly began to obey her. Her hands and arms followed, and soon she had enough control to smooth out the hem of her dress where it had bunched up.

Seiga followed Tojiko's actions mutely, her eternal smile plastered on her face. "If you are feeling more like yourself, perhaps you might divulge me a little secret?"

"Depends on what it is."

"How, exactly, are you still among us? I was speaking the truth when we last met: your mind should be long gone. Out in the world it would be a different matter entirely, but alone here, with no way to escape, not even to sleep..."

Seiga's eyes widened. Slowly, her corners of her lips rose into a cat-like grin. "So, that's what you did."

Tojiko grinned back. "Yes, I re-learned how to meditate." She leaned against the casket and with a grunt, pulled herself upright. "I was quite good at it as a child, you know. A little too good for my own health, actually, but with no bodily needs there are no longer any downsides."

"So, you found a way to escape all by yourself? Clever girl." Seiga shook her head lightly, a genuine-looking smile on her face. "Taking advantage of Buddhism, of all things...I will admit, I am a little surprised."

Tojiko shrugged. "If I can't get over myself and use Buddhism as a tool like any other, I'm weakening myself for no real reason."

"A pragmatic viewpoint, that." Seiga tapped her cheek with her finger. "Not quite as pragmatic as it would have been to leave with me when I first offered to take you, however." She placed the finger on her lips. "Who knows? I might even crafted a new body for you."

Tojiko paused, opening her mouth to ask if Seiga could actually do that. After another moment of thought, she shrugged. "No point in dwelling on that. Besides, I'm happy the way I am."

"Oh?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Tojiko smiled. "I never have to worry about sleep or hunger again. I can fly. I can call thunder down at my behest." She sat down on the edge of the casket and lay her eyes on Miko for the first time in what felt like centuries. "I'm sure being a shikaisen has its perks, but in a way, this too is eternal life. As long as I stay be her side, it's all the same to me."

Seiga gave her an odd look. It took Tojiko a long while to realise rather than annoyed, it might have been impressed.

"Interesting..." Seiga sat down on the other side of the casket and looked her straight in the eye. The usual coyness was gone from her voice, and her glance lacked the teasing quality Tojiko had come to expect from all interactions with Seiga. "As it happens, I am not quite as surprised to find you still sane as you might expect. It has always been clear you possess unusual strength of spirit. I see now what a pity it was you wouldn't hear my counsel when alive, but perhaps it is not too late.

Tojiko raised her eyebrow. "What are you aiming at?"

Seiga chuckled and waved her hand. "And sharp-witted, too. Very well. I have an offer to make." her gaze turned piercing. "Become my disciple."

"What?" Tojiko hadn't known what to expect, but this was about the last thing she would have guessed.

"I am not asking you to join me as a common servant, obviously. I have plenty of those. I need someone with a brain, someone capable of following orders more complex than can be written on a single piece of paper." She chuckled again. This time, Tojiko could tell it was a false laugh. "I can teach you things beyond your wildest dreams, for nothing but unquestioning obedience. Becoming a hermit is beyond the reach of a ghost, but oh, there is so much more..."

"I refuse." The words escaped Tojiko before she could fully think about them, but even after realising what she had said, she didn't regret it.

Seiga sighed and theatrically leaned to the right. ""I am not surprised. Because of Miko, is it?"

"Yes." Wanting to stay by Miko's sidn'te was the only reason, but it would do.

Seiga gave Tojiko another odd look, this one one that Tojiko wasn't able to decipher. "A pity, that. But so shall it be." She inclined her head ever so slightly. ""You are a rare specimen, Soga no Tojiko, and knowing dear Miko, she didn't tell you that nearly as often as she ought to have."

There were only two people in the world Tojiko had ever accepted praise from without suspicion. Seiga wasn't one of them, but there and then, Tojiko felt a strange fluttering feeling in her stomach. Perhaps she hadn't simply imagined the impressed look in Seiga's eyes.

"You always had a way with words," she replied, trying to keep her sarcasm to a minimum. "Still, I'm staying here."

Seiga smiled sweetly. "Naturally. Not for long, however."

"What?"

"The time of Prince Shoutoku's resurrection approaches. Surely you will leave the mausoleum with her, no?"

Tojiko realised her mouth was hanging open and hurried to close it. "When?"

"Oh, a hundred years from now. That is nothing to us, after all." Seiga winked.

Tojiko gave Seiga a long look as emotion swelled within her chest. It was strange; the usual irritation she had come to associate with the mere sight of the wicked hermit was nowhere to be found. Really, all her hatred seemed to have evaporated for an instant.

Soon, Miko would walk on Earth again. All would be right.

No doubt, the downsides of Miko's resurrection would catch up with her soon, but for now, she found herself able to sincerely respond to Seiga's smile. The pressure attempting to collapse her mind from within was still there, and would probably never go away until she saw sunlight again, but it was fine. A hundred years...she could survive a hundred years standing on her if she had to. She would endure.

At length, she realised Seiga had left. She couldn't bring herself to care. All that mattered was the spring that had awoken within her. 


	12. Rebirth

A ghost regained awareness.

It was a curious feeling, returning to reality after what could have easily been decades, and Tojiko was yet to get used to it. She lay quietly in her casket as she waited for her limbs and senses to wake up, still as a corpse.

After several long moments, she sat up and frowned without meaning to. While falling into a trance had proven her saviour, she feared that one day, she wouldn't be able to come back from the void. There was no way for her to choose to wake up once she went under, nothing to rely on but the hope her body, undead or not, would force her back if her mind was about to be irrecoverably lost.

That was why, whenever she did return, she'd spent some time conscious, whittling time away like she had before finding her escape. Once the pressure on her head grew irritating, she'd go back to meditation. The alternation had worked fine for an indeterminable amount of time, though it did mean she no longer saw Seiga. Apparently, the wicked hermit didn't bother rousing her when she visited, if she even continued to check up on the mausoleum at all.

Tojiko had already returned back safely four times. With what was hopefully considerably less than a hundred years to go, it made little difference if she failed the fifth time. Surely her allies would do their best to bring her back if they woke up before her.

Surely.

She left her casket and hovered to Futo's resting place. After a moment of silently contemplating the white-haired woman, she extended her hand and touched her cheek. Her skin was cold as ice.

Her eye drifted downwards, to Futo's hands lying on her chest, and the object held in them.

It was simplicity itself to extract the plate from Futo's grasp; her body was as yielding as any live one. Tojiko placed Futo's hands back where they had been before drifting away.

She leaned her back against her own casket and examined the plate. Nothing distinguished it from any other plate except for the subtle decorations around its edge, the colour of which Tojiko could no longer tell — her brush with insanity seemed to have permanently damaged her eyes — but she knew they were blue. It was odd to think a human soul resided within such a common object.

She balanced the plate in her hands, feeling out its exact weight, wondering how many shards it would break into if it hit the floor.

She remained in place for a long while, absorbed in deep thought.

Then, with a sigh, she turned and returned the plate into Futo's hands. She wouldn't put vengeance aside, not completely, but she would postpone it for now. First, she wanted to hear Futo's explanation for her actions, hopefully discovering the real motive behind her crime. Besides, along with Miko and Seiga, she was one of the only three people left who had known Tojiko. If anyone could help her complete the hole-ridden picture of her past, it was her. She could destroy Futo if necessary once she had everything she wanted out of her.

Assuming she still wished to do so, anyway.

Tojiko sat down on the floor, leaning her elbows against the edge of Futo's casket. Futo looked so peaceful in her sleep, calm and fragile in a way she had never been in life. And yet, there was a slight crease between her eyes.

"What exactly were you thinking when you died?" Tojiko's memories of her own death were but brief flashes; of the bitter taste on her tongue, of Miko helping her lie down, and of an all-consuming, primordial panic swallowing her whole as her lungs failed. What remained of Futo's fate was permanently seared onto her mind, but even the crystal clear image of the last look Futo had given her didn't answer the question. Only Futo herself could.

"You fool," she whispered. A slight smile crept onto her lips despite herself, withering as soon as she noticed it was there. "You must have known you would be caught. Even if I had moved on, Miko would have..." She shook her head. "Even with all the time I've had to think about it, I still don't understand your motives." Again, she smiled, this time allowing herself to be amused. "I wonder what the look on your face will be once you wake up and see me here."

Naturally, there was no response. Tojiko chuckled wryly.

"I look forward to hearing your first words in your new life. I'm sure they will be priceless."

She tilted her head. The strangest thing was, she no longer found it in herself to hate Futo. She held a grudge, certainly, but the burning rancour she had once felt was gone. Perhaps, once Futo lived again, the hatred would return, but that remained to be seen.

Slowly, she brought her hand down and lightly stroked Futo's hair.

A sharp gasp like the first desperate breath of one rescued from underwater resonated in the dusty air.

Tojiko retracted her hand, blinking.

Futo's eyes fluttered open.


End file.
